Insight
by lyrainthedark
Summary: A collection of vignettes and drabbles, each one from the perspective of a different character. An author's note will be posted at the beginning of each chapter with details for the chapter.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Sesshomaru, on the death of Kagura.

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II.

I did not love her; this, I know to be true.

Once, I would not have known, but the child changed that, changed me. So I know I did not love her, and in the knowledge there is, faintly, disappointment. Because I miss her, and missing is something I do not understand; because I did not love her, but I did feel _something_. I wonder, what was that feeling?

When the wind is strong enough, I am caught in memories as if in the strands of an invisible web. I cannot cut it; neither my claws nor my sword is sharp enough. More to the point, neither my claws nor my sword can reach. I have been thinking, and I wonder: is it her I am missing, or what might have been? Now, I do not know the answer, but _someday_; someday keeps me breathing - the possibility, the promise, of an answer.

It is in the wind - that promise.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Shippou, after Kagome is pushed back into her own time by Inuyasha, and has returned.

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III.

The day she found me, right away, I wanted to like her. Love her, even. When I said so, once, she laughed and said, _"But didn't you steal them from me - my shards?"_ I couldn't deny that, but it was still true, and she knows the reason why I took them, anyway. Knows it wouldn't have done any good - anyway.

Shards...I wanted them then, but now - I hate them. If it weren't for shards, what would we be doing? It's spring now, _sakura_ spring, so maybe we would go to the cherry-blossom festival, and there would be good things to eat and she would be smiling, a real, happy smile. I know when she pretends, when he runs off to be with the _other one_, when he is wounded, when he is fighting, when he is stupid. A _real_ smile. A festival - yes. Or maybe - maybe, since only she is human, we would not go to the festival. Maybe we would stay home in the village, and eat something simple, tell a story, laugh together, go to sleep together. There would be no more fighting, no more _looking_ for fighting...well. Except maybe _him_. But that would be okay. That would be fine, if there were no shards.

But...if there had been no shards, no _shikon_ for them to break off of, she would not be here. I would never have met her. I hate them - shards. And I love them, but...I don't understand. She says, _"when you're older"_... about some things.

This, too?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Posted elsewhere, I had a contest for people to decide whether this was Kagome, or Kikyou. I actually like to think of it as both, but you can pick one or the other if you prefer.

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IV.

Will it ever be enough?

I'm missing so many pieces now, pieces of myself that are scattered like grains of rice in the wind, like a spilled basket of mulberry leaves. I keep asking, when did it begin? When was the first time, when was _the moment_ - the moment it first began, the shattering of my soul. I think...it was _that_ day, the day I came _back here_. How strange it all seemed, how unbelievable - how wonderful, but even then, I knew that I did not belong.

There was a flock waiting, to devour the grains that escaped my grasp; the basket of leaves has spilled into the mouths of silkworms. The birds are well-fed; someone somewhere will be dressed in a beautiful robe - but what...about me? The person I was when all this began and the person I am now are not the same person. We share a name and a face, a pair of eyes that sees the world in certain colors, a heart that feels in certain shades of grey. How is it that I share all these things with the self I used to be, and yet am not the same?

It is in that same way, perhaps, that I am not the person _she_ is - that though we share a soul, a shape, we are not one. Does he understand that, I wonder? All the time, I wonder, but I do not think he understands. He cannot look at either of us without seeing the other; I can almost, _almost_ smile at that, the thing I cannot understand myself. How is it he cannot _feel_ the difference between us? The past and the future...or is it just that, somehow, neither of us belongs?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is the last one I have done at the moment...I will probably continue this on my own, but I am more than willing to accept requests, just let me know which characters or incidents interest you. This is Sesshomaru, reviving Rin.

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V.

Like an essence, the sword brought death to my senses, like an essence retrieved the chill from the air, gave it to my bones.

When I found her, the first changes were only skin deep, and I could have held her in my hands. Instead, I looked at her. She was small, she was weak; she was the sum of the things I despised. Silently, I questioned the red-thread between us, the life-thread, and thought - _how foolish_. She was dead, and because of this, there could be no connection. The sword I carried only out of habit became a light; the light restored her life.

I watched her breathe, held out judgment, confined myself to the evidence of my senses. The red, binding thread – it was a real thing. It tightened. She said her name and nothing else, and I was pleased that she knew how to decide what was important, what I needed to know. She followed, without questions, without answers, without expectations. I thought, _yes_.

_This is the way it is supposed to be_.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Part one of two; Kouga. Much thanks to sassybrat and kame hime for reviews!

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VI.

Despite myself -you know, what they all say is arrogance - I have _always known_ that she could never be mine. It was painful; you have no idea, no idea at all - how painful it was to _know_ that, every time I said _my woman_.

_My woman_ belonged to someone who didn't deserve her, someone who hurt her, someone who never truly seemed to care…and my woman was too smart, smart enough to know that if a demon, any demon, looks at you with love even _once_ -

Then _that look_ has forever in it. That look is the reason why I am where I am now - with the one who gives it to me, every time she opens her eyes.

I don't know why; she knows, even now, that I can't - _can't_ - love her. She knows, that even now, I come to this place, this forest edge, and look across fields I will never cross again, look at a house whose threshold I will never stand in front of. There is a woman there; I will never see her again, never meet her again. _That look_ - I cannot give it to her anymore.

I stand far enough that I cannot see her - not clearly. From this distance, even to my eyes she is small and vague, and I can pretend that she is the same as the girl she was. I can pretend, even though my heart knows what the years have done to her, my woman, soft, human, woman…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Kouga, part II. I have...no idea who will be next.

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VII.

I can see her, like I can always see her. _He_ is with her, and I still don't think he deserves her - no one deserves her - but I can at least say that he has never left her, will not leave her until the end…maybe not even then. I can see him more clearly than I can see her - why is that? He has aged, but not like I know she has, and suddenly I feel more sorry for him than I do for myself. I can see the future like it is being drawn in front of my eyes. It has been seventy years.

This time, this endless time, is rolling to a close.

When she is gone, he will come to me; he will tell me, because long ago I made him promise to tell me…and never her.

He did not deserve her; you understand? But he is honorable…he was the one she chose, after all. Very suddenly, I see her sway, and fall. He catches her - there was only once, _once_, that I was allowed to catch her - and because he is holding her I can see her face. She is an old woman; I knew that - but she is beautiful still, her hair as silver, as bright as his now.

For one moment, I look down at my feet; this spot, where I have come for so long, will miss me soon enough forever. I know what is coming; the breath of it, that darkest scent, is in the air.

When he comes to me, I will offer to let him stay. I will never - _never_ - like him, but she is leaving me now, my woman. And when she is gone, he will be the last thing she touched; when she is gone, he will be the one who heard her voice for the last time.

Someday, he too will grow old, and leave me behind - unless the wind and the years choose not to pass me by; unless the cold and the restless future turns me to stone.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Kagome, after the well is closed. Next, Inuyasha.

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VIII.

Over and over again, I find myself losing hold, losing track, falling, but not far enough. Now, I move only in space, and it is terrifying, the drop, the pain in the my knees, my palms; the deeper cut is worse.

There is nothing there to catch me, you see; not now. Nothing; no one. No part of me that anyone can see is hurt, but there is still this twisted urge in me; scream, it tells me. Scream, because if I scream, if I am in pain, if _I need him_…he has never failed me. When has he ever not answered? Was there ever even one such time?

There was not, but I wish now, selfishly, that there had been. Perhaps then, I would be more prepared.

This is not the first time I have felt like this; every time I step outside, every time I come to this place, stand here, stare down…it's useless, I know. I hear them whispering, my family, and I know they are worried, and I know I should stop coming - but how can I?

I met you; I walked in your world, breathed it…I would go back without a second thought, without a restless moment of decision.

_Without regret -_

I find myself begging the gods that someday when all this, _all this_, is over, I will be able to laugh at the foolishness, the idleness of this luxury, my self-pity....ahh, I've been told, and I know, that it is pointless, and wrong. I tell myself I have only one regret, and that, too, is foolishness....maybe it is better to say that I regret only one choice. One, real choice, one sound, one word, one question that I should have had the courage to ask.

It is too late now, too late...unless it should become later still and the wheel turn round and settle on that question, that chance, again. I think...I think we were both too young, me in the body and him in the mind. They are so connected, as connected as we are; to him, I said foolish things, and did not feel embarrassed... or at least not much.

I think, yes, it sounds silly, but we lived it together and for us, it had meaning.

I would not mind reminding him how quickly we became close; if I could, I would steal him away for myself and make the life in my mind but that is not how the world works and I know nothing of his feelings. There is a pang at that, a lip-twitching, eyes-tearing pang. Because of that choice, that regret. Because of that question.

I want to know - if I had asked it, if I had asked what you were feeling, what you thought of those words, what would you have said? Even as one beginning was ending, even as I should have seen, should have felt the truth, there could have been another. Did I throw away my chance, my chance to go…and stay?

When did I make it? That choice, I want it back. I didn't make it - it wasn't me!

Do you hear, are you listening? You, who have always listened before, always, always. I regret, and that means I buried my heart in the past. Do you hear?

I…regret, and that means you will always be right there - you will always - always be _right there - _


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Inuyasha, after the well has closed. A companion piece to the last one, if you like. REVISED. Not perfect, but I like it much better now!

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IX.

I sit in this place, watching the well, its silence, its empty darkness, as long as it is night. If she came back at night it could be dangerous for her, and -

The thought hurts, it hurts like fire in my chest, acid in my eyes. I have been given words, from the ones who I know are my friends - _our friends - _and they are words of comfort, but they are like physical things to me, like blows that do not fall. Despite the fact that I know they miss her too, they have happiness of their own; each of them, a husband, a wife. A child. I wonder, and I do not understand. Tears, hot - and then cold. Wet, and they dry and leave salt-streaks on my skin.

I have never felt anything like this; when she comes back, I don't ever want to feel anything like it again.

I want to be asleep in the sound of my own heartbeat, but if I sleep I might miss her. I want to go back to the place and time when I was happy, but I cannot make myself remember whether or not she, too, was happy. If I think that for too long, it scares me - and I have not been afraid since the first day, the first moment I saw her, the only moment I truly believed that she was -

Yes, I was afraid, the first day. And uncomfortable. But after that - I did not want to leave her. Ever. It isn't fair, that I had that taste and nothing else, it isn't fair that the promise was not for me.

She didn't need a softer heart than mine! She didn't need a softer love!

After the first year, I needed something, anything to take away the agony; it was the first, the only time I have left the scent-distance of this place. I found the only one who can still challenge me, but he took one look at me and stepped away.

_You are no longer a predator; you have become prey_ - that's what he said to me; my brother. And I said, I know - because it was true. I thought he would kill, but he did not stop turning away, and when I looked up he was gone, and I have not seen him since.

I want to go back; it is my mantra. I want to go back. And even if I did, it would not be the same. Even if I did, the hours cannot unfurl, cannot roll back - and there are not days, not weeks or months but years between us now; I can taste them, in the salt that is so often on my face.

_I hate it - _

I want to be clean of this essence, this sadness; it is eating at me, dissolving me from the soul. Some days I swear I can feel it, bubbling under my skin like the thousand evil thoughts I share with no one. I call them evil because I know they are selfish and I know that means they are not right, but they are there anyway. I wish that we had not won, had not defeated our enemy - I wish for just one more battle, with her at my side, one more chance...to do it all over again.

I want her back - for me, just for me; everything I never said while she was here, I can say it now. I _want _to say it. Sometimes I want to say it so much I forget she isn't here. For a moment, only ever one moment at a time, I turn around, expecting to see her. Since she left I don't sleep on new moon nights; while she was with me I was safe but now it is not the danger that keeps me up, but the hope. I wouldn't be able to scent her, if she came back on a new-moon night. So I sit, and watch; I wait.

Those are the times that I begin to wonder: if I was alone, the last person in the world, what would I do?

And then I remember that I am - that she is gone; that she is gone. I try to make myself believe that she is not coming back, but the thought won't stay in my head. The petulance, the arrogance, the stubbornness that have kept me alive for a hundred years all tell me that it is a lie - a _lie_! She promised she would stay by my side - unless I no longer wanted her there, unless I no longer needed her.

She always knew better than I did how much I needed her; I know that now. She would never - _never_ - leave me behind.

But slowly, it is killing me; the waiting. I have heard them say it - _our friends_ - and I know it is true. It has been...three years.

_She_ would never believe it, if I told her; that without trying, she had vanquished me - that by accident, she had left me undone. And I _know _it was an accident; I know she did not want to leave. It was in her eyes the last time she looked at me; it was in the words she tried to say that I could not hear. In her eyes -


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sango, as she decides to attempt to kill her brother.

Much thanks to Sassybrat for more excellent reviews; I definitely agree with you about Inuyasha (the last one) and I don't know what to do to fix it...it was irritating me, so I just posted it. He is the hardest person to make into, well...a person. But - Sango!

Please Review!

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X.

I am tired of the echoes, and the panic; tired of seeing the image on my eyelids, like a painting, a picture that I cannot forget. Why, so bright? Why, when day and night alike are dim and empty?

At night when I cannot sleep I try to think. I go out under the stars and polish my weapon, but the blank glare, the shining bone and steel, become a taunt. My eyes grow dry, my thoughts tired... I am tired.

Tired with a deep-bone eating feeling that I will never be able to explain to another living soul; tired in a way that reaches into my belly and twists hot knots of what was and what wasn't and what is and what isn't...what will be, and...won't. When he is with me for those brief moments, when he asks me _the question_, I give him the best answer I have but that is not always enough, even from me. Even for me. But what other answer can I give?

To live - that will be enough, won't it? If there was a goal, a purpose...a single point calling to us, creating us...that would really be meaningless, wouldn't it? If we decided nothing; if fate moved us, one step after another, each step on a string. I don't know, I tell him. I know only that the value of our existence is in its frailty, its movement, its compulsive speed and shattered longing for truth, its will and its willpower, its strength and all of its beauty....I tell him this, and try to keep the tears back, the terrible pain.

I do not tell him that the beauty is not all, even though I know he is aware - I do not tell him of the deformity, the unknown, unseen underbelly, the torn apart, torn open wounds in our world. I do not speak a word of the evil or the past, because there is enough of that for both of us in the silent moments, without bringing it out into words.

If I tell the truth, I know, I do - since I discovered the name, the face of our enemy, since I knew what it was that had been done to you. If I tell the truth, there is only one thing _I_ am waiting for - only one thing.

For the end to come, quietly, the two of us, together. For the end to come - for death to fall like a steel curtain between us. I carry it myself, that steel - in the shape of a sword.

It is what I am waiting for; it is not what I want.

What I want is for you to remember; to know my name.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: And now...Kirara, one thousand years after the death of Sango. The line in the middle is the story we all know so well; obviously I wasn't going to rewrite the entirety of Inuyasha in a one-shot. Don't laugh. Kirara. Yes. Coming soon: A Few that Are Not depressing. And Revised Inuyasha. (because I can.)

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XI.

Do not run, girl, I will not eat you; I am tired, and the air of this place is a premonition of death, coming to me.

_Soon_, _soon_, I have been thinking, I will die. But what does that mean to you?

Surely you will be glad of it, you and all your kind.

I was loved once - you do not believe me, I can see it in your eyes, but it is true. Even if it was only once, I was loved.

Can you say as much? No?

You are only a child, so maybe it is not too late.

Carefully, now that I can express that tender feeling, I hold back the fiery tears. Someday, perhaps you too will weep.

You have her look; kind eyes, kind smile, that _steel_, in a slender frame. Do you understand me, child? It is why I am talking to you, why I am telling you this story. Listen…

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My breath is less now. I can feel the long, slow fire beginning to fade, dying down to embers, red coals. I have told you this story so that when I become ashes, not all is lost, not all is forgotten.

Alone for the last time, I have suffered, waiting for this day and the promise it brings.

Tell me, child; do you understand how I can suffer, and not suffer? Do you understand how I could wait for the day of my own death, and find it beautiful?

No. I did not think you could.

Is it strange, is it _difficult_ not to know? Not to remember? To forget this most basic thing?

How beautiful it is - the slow approach of this long night. What a hold it has on us; and the answer it demands, the answer it brings!

Truth, this knowledge. How could we be born, unless we die? How can we hold our own, unless we let go, and in letting go, become more than was ever expected of us?

Like the ones who came before, holding in, holding back; they left nothing behind, became the myths by which men burn.

I knew them, those myths - I walked by their side but those days are long gone, down into the dirt, down into dust. Where our enemies were laid to rest in the silent past; where soon, I will go to join them.

When the fire goes out; when the stars roll over me for the last time…


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: And finally, one that is not depressing. This is Kagome and Inuyasha, as the well allows her to pass through one last time. Next up, Miroku - because Sassybrat suggested it and I think he'll be fun.

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XII.

It is the last time. I tell myself this the way I have told myself this every time I come here. This place; it is a torment to be here, and a torment not to be here. It is this place that took my life, all of it - this place, with its depths, black, darker than dark -

There is light in front of me, suddenly, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It is flickering; it is unsteady.

I have the certain knowledge that there is no time to say goodbye, even though it will be forever - no time to _think_ it. The leap I take, the leap over the edge, down into that light, is more than a leap of faith, greater. There is no _faith_ in it, I _know _- I have _always _known.

Not once did he fail me; not once.

In a moment, I can feel dirt under my knees; there is wind in my hair, the breeze of the open sneaking down the shaft of the well. In the moonlight, I can see the green vines leading upward, and alongside them are the marks of claws, claws that tried to rend, to tear their way through time.

A hand grasps my wrist, pulls me up, and in a moment I am standing in front of you and you have kept every promise…every one.

"You kept me waiting."

"Not on purpose - "

"Me, either."

Now, I remember - why I love you; how much. How perfect you are, and this place - this sky, full of stars. I no longer need to ask the question that has been killing me for three years; it is in your eyes, the answer I have been waiting for. It is on your lips, in your kiss; it is in your hands, in your trembling fingers on my skin.

And the night holds its breath -


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: So...apparently, every time I think up something for Miroku, it becomes part of Winds! Which is not bad, but...means that he is not here. I must apologize to Sassybrat; I WILL do Miroku next, even if it kills me! Your reviews are always excellent, and I must thank you for them - I'm sorry to disappoint you since you were looking forward to Miroku, but...well....:( The muse doesn't always cooperate. Jusenkyo, I must also thank you for your review; hopefully you'll find this one up to snuff!

Anyway, for the moment, I present Sesshomaru's Mother in contemplation, for your reading pleasure.

As always, suggestions are welcome and reviews are appreciated! More soon!

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XIII.

I have watched him from afar for years, for centuries; since the day I gave him birth, I have known that he was not truly _my_ son, but his father's - and in its own way, that knowledge has been a scar, something searing that has eaten away at my heart.

I, too, am powerful, one of the strongest of the strong...but alone in my palace I sit in a gilded chair and my strength does not avail me to roll back the long years, the empty days that fill up my past now. Ah, my son – on those infrequent occasions when he comes to me the world holds itself apart, and I wonder if I am really even alive. Perhaps when the knowledge came to me that my mate was dead; perhaps it was then that I sank into a dream from which I have yet to awaken, from which there is no awakening.

Foolishness, my son would say, if I were unfortunate enough to reveal my weakness. Foolishness – and he is right, of course. How could he not be? It was I who taught him such things, I, not his father, who gave him a heart of stone. And the price...the price I pay is that now, I wish I had not said a word. Now, I wish I had stayed silent, so that he might come to me and comfort me in my loneliness.

Loneliness. It is a hard word to live in, but it remains...easy to say.

The years between the death of my mate and this day have passed and left no mark on me, have left me almost without memory. I do remember that we fought, he and I – over my coldness and over his heat; I do remember that by the end, it was habit, not feeling that moved us, and still we fought as violently as ever...until at last, we made loving war over his _human_... and the son he expected from her.

Many times, I have asked myself: if I had known what was to come, would I have been less vehement, sending him away from me that last time? Did I make a curse out of my last words to him, did I allow death its entrance? _Do not come to me again_, I said, and why is it that _that_ is the only request I made of him that he ever honored?

I restrain myself to hold my breath in the moments when such thoughts come on me; it is not in me to weep, to shed tears, but the anger is almost too much to bear.

He died for her, his human woman, and I admit I did not expect that; he died for _her_ - my mate, who had clung to life as fiercely, as savagely as I.

And the woman, his human woman? She did not even have the grace to live out her life! The Inu no Taisho poured out his blood for her, and still, she had the audacity to fade like the most fragile of spring blossoms! There were not ten years between his death and hers; I know she is damned for this, but it is not enough. I hope she is running in hell, that she has been running since the moment her eyes closed to this world. Otherwise I will find her, and when I do, they will hear her screams in heaven. He was _my_ mate; but he died for _her_!

Even my son does not know this rage I harbor, but if he did I do not think he would understand. He, too, walks with a human; a girl, too young for fleshly lust, too young for elegant conversation...but she is his. For her, he walked in the darkest depths of hell...like his father, he sees the tragic flowering of their mortal lives, and wonders at it, and perhaps feels sorrow.

Like his father...except that he is not yet dead – and neither is _she_. I have warned him to take care, to watch that the burden of her life does not leak away from him while he is not paying attention...like his father.

The similarity between them is darkening to my eyes. On those rare occasions when my son visits me, the sight of him at the foot of my stairs is always a knife of memory; the pale, tall figure, white-robed, armored, hair blowing in the wind. It is only afterward that my vision clears, and I remember.

If I could, I would forget it all, but the bond of a mate is a bond for all time; even now, when it is shattered. Even now, when I can do nothing but live with the ragged ends of my regret.


End file.
